Hover
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Iggy gets rescued in the only way a Winchester knows how—painfully.


**a/n: young!Dean & young!Iggy**

_Iggy gets rescued in the only way a Winchester knows how__—__painfully._

**Hover**

Iggy knew that when his time was finally up, he wouldn't be going to the place that his wings might have suggested. No, he wouldn't be going into the sky where he'd lived since he was a little kid, he'd never be that free again. He was gonna fall, and he was gonna fall hard—to the center of the earth—to be more exact. He may be fourteen, a mutant freak, with no proper education, or religious upbringing—but he wasn't stupid. After what he'd been through since his birth, the things that were taken away from him, he had no fantasies; but he imagined that if there was a Heaven after you die, it was high in the clouds (higher than he could ever fly [but not space; that little pocket in between]); and if there was a Hell, it was deep at the center of the earth.

Those were childish thoughts, but then, he _was_ only _fourteen_, but who had time to act that way when you were separated from you flock (family), and had Erasers (male supermodels with wolf DNA spliced in), trying to steal what little freedom he had gleaned. But it wasn't as if he could _see_ that freedom in the first place, not for a long time now. He could only _sense_ it, when he had the time, which was rarely.

So in the air, flying for him life, it wasn't as if he could _see_ the boy standing on the ground in the field, aiming a sawed-off shotgun at him. Or was it aimed at the _flying_ Eraser behind him (_close _behind). There was nothing he could do but keep flapping his wings as the Eraser nipped at his wing-tips.

**blam!**

Iggy was so startled by the nose and answering howl of pain from the pursuing Eraser that he stopped, only started back into it as the Eraser crashed into him. They were tangled, spiralling down towards the ground, coming fast (he assumed rightly). He struggled as the Eraser tore at him with his claws and fangs (sometimes Iggy wished that he'd come out with a little more avian DNA; talons would come in handy sometimes!), he threw some punches and one landed in _just_ the right spot 'cause the Eraser let go. Just it time to (he guessed rightly again) he kicked out at the beast and his sneakered feet meeting solid flesh, and he propelled himself upward, wings flapping hard. He heard the thump as the dirt bag hit the ground and the groan that told him the thing was still alive.

As much as Iggy wanted to go back and finish the asshole off, there was no way that he could risk it. Some one was down there with a gun, someone that he couldn't see. Were they another Eraser, or maybe a possible ally? He couldn't risk the chance that it was the former, and no way to tell it was the latter. It wasn't like he could glance down and _see _where they were aiming. But he got his answer...

**blam!**

Iggy flinched at the sound of the second shot. But cried out at the agony that erupted at his shoulder. He clutched it and tried to move away, but the pain was to much, he blacked out! He opened his eyes and knew this sensation that he was feeling, was him falling—falling to the ground, falling to his... death. He wasn't ready! He worked his wings in a panic, the pain in his shoulder and wing making him shout. He didn't know what was happening with that wing, but he knew the other one was working, fight against the air, slowing his descent to the ground.

He didn't know what he was going to hit, just knew that he was. He couldn't tell which way was up, and which way was down. There was no way for him to prepare himself for the landing. Head or ass, no clue which would be on the ground and which would be facing the sky. So he pumped his wings as hard as he could, only able to hope for the best. He squeezed his blind eyes closed, screamed, and crashed to the ground.

Pain.

That's what he was feeling, and that's how he knew he was alive—for now at least. He groaned, and rolled from his side onto his stomach. That had been the good news, if he'd landed on his back, he knew that his wings would have been crushed with the impact—an injury he couldn't survive, and didn't want to. He laid his palm flat against the grass underneath him, and started to tap the ground. He concentrated as he sent slight vibrations through the ground, like ripples in a pond, and gleamed a general picture in his utter darkness; he couldn't _see_ anything just _feel_ it.

There was only two other people with him, twenty feet behind him. The Eraser, who was still alive and seemed to have been shot and landed on one of its grafted on wings. And a human, he was short, like a kid, but with the pain Iggy was feeling made it hard to concentrate.

The kid slowly walked up the Eraser (but not in a cautious way, more like on his own time), reloading his shotgun on the way. He stopped two feet away, looked down at it, "Eat my bullet, freak."

**blam!**

Iggy had to get out of here, now! That kid just killed the Easer without a pause, so what he was going to do with him? He didn't want to find out as the kid turned and started toward him at the same pace. Iggy knew that he couldn't fly, one of his wings barely moved, just one wouldn't be able to take him up. He reached out in front of him and grabbed handfuls of grass, tearing them out as he tried to drag himself forward. His left side instantly flared with pain and he had to stop. He never been shot before (surprising feat), and wondered if this was what Max felt like as she'd been shot!

He didn't want to die though. Even with all the screwed up stuff he'd been through in his life, death would not be a relief for him. He was trapped in darkness, he didn't want to drowned in more of it. So he started to drag himself forward again, one armed. Whimpering all the way.

"Try all you like, you're not gonna get anywhere, dude." A voice drawled behind him.

Iggy froze; he'd been right, this was a kid, just like him! He was going to die, any minute now. Would the kid even hesitate?

"Please—" Iggy said, his voice cracking in pain.

"Begging doesn't work with me,"

"I haven't even done anything!" Iggy protested, looking down into the grass with sightless eyes.

"Your not human," he said simply, shrugging.

"Yes, I am. I was born human, just like you!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have wings on my back, unlike you."

"That happened after."

"Right. Uh-huh. So what are you then, an Angel?"

"Angels aren't real." Iggy said in confusion. No one'd ever called him an Angel before. Angel was an Angel 'cause that was her name, but not Iggy.

"I know some Angels, real dickheads if you ask me."

"I'm not an Angel." Iggy said through gritted teeth, partly from pain, partly from fear.

"Fine. What are you then? Your friend back there wasn't like any werewolf I've seen before, and I ain't never seen something like you before either."

"That Eraser was not my friend!"

"Earaser? What's that then?"

"An Earaser if that dirt bag back there; a human with wolf DNA. And anyone with _eye_s could see that he was trying to kill me!_ Even I could see that,"_

"You sayin' he was human before to?" He asked, ignoring that last part.

"No. He was grown in a test tube—why am I even telling you this?!"

"'Cause I gotta a gun, that's why." He reminded Iggy. "You telling me some mad scientist whipped you guys up like Frankenstein?"

"... Sort've."

"Right..."

"Wait, you're all casual about werewolves and Angels, but bad people in white coats, is unbelievable!" Iggy demanded, forgetting himself as he twisted around, despite the fact that he couldn't see. "What is wrong with you? You just shot somebody without pause, and now you're gonna due me in, and you think I'm lying?!"

"Hey!" The kid protested. "That's not fair, I'd be stupid to assume that you're not lying just 'cause I'm holding you at gun point."

"No, you're just stupid for not noticing something when it's _staring_ you right in the face, idiot! You shoot first and ask questions later? You think I'd be friends with that dirt bag, when their constantly trying to kill me and my family. If I could have _seen_ him, I'd of killed him myself. Can't you _see _how different we are? You thought I was an Angel, did you think the same of him?"

"I only said Angel 'cause the wings,"

"So the first thing you do when you think you see an Angel is shoot at it?"

"Of course! I already explained the Angel thing; their complete dicks. And do you think I can _see _in the dark?"

Iggy scoffed in disgust. "At least you can see."

There was a pause. "Wait a minute... are you _blind?!_" he asked incredulous.

"Hooray, give the kid a prize!" Iggy deadpanned. "Of course I'm blind, otherwise you'd never have shot me."

Now there was silence, and Iggy could hear him shuffling around.

"What? You can't kill me now that you know I'm blind?" Iggy couldn't help it, of course he had to poke the bear with a stick, it was starting to leave him alone—getting shot seemed to do that to him.

"Maybe," he admitted. "What, you want me to shoot you?"

"I'll probably bleed to death before you make up your stupid mind."

"Whatever." He muttered. There was more shuffling, and before Iggy could react, the kid was kneeling on his left side.

"What are you doing?!" Iggy demanded, flinching away as the pain flared up as he was poked and prodded.

He paused. "Oh, calm down. Getting shot doesn't hurt that much,"

"Ah! How do you know?"

"I've been shot before,"

"Yeah, well, did you fall from the sky too?"

"No. But it's kinda like falling out of a building, right?"

"Uh... I guess." Iggy wasn't sure what to make of what was happening any more.

"Anyway," the kid said, poking at him again. "It's just a flesh wound to the shoulder, the pellets are only about an inch into the flesh. Your wing, just got clipped at the base by a stray pellet or two. I could patch you up easy,"

"Your gonna patch me up?" Iggy asked.

"...Unless you want me to kill you?" He suggested.

"No!" Iggy shouted. "You can stitch me up, since it was your fault in the first place. But don't think I'm gonna thank you for it."

He smirked. "You don't have to. Dean, by the way."

He sighed. "Iggy," he guessed his time wasn't up just yet—just another close call. They were always close calls, but he guessed that was better than the final blow, or in this case _shot._

_f_  
_I know that sonar isn't one of Iggy's powers, but I used it anyway_

_y_


End file.
